


cover me in rag and bones

by quodpersortem



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demon!Stiles, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Mountain Ash, Voyeurism, Wolfsbane, dark!fic, fairy dust, i don't know what this really is, implied dub-con, you can try to figure that out by yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/quodpersortem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek wakes up with a clouded head. His vision is a blur of shapes he can't decipher in the dim light that surrounds him. His eyes are burning in his skull. His mouth is dry and tastes awful, of dried blood and vomit.</p><p>Maybe a clock or wristwatch is ticking in the distance but it's difficult to say with the sound only coming through in waves. Derek tries to focus, but if anything it only makes it more difficult to sense what exactly is going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cover me in rag and bones

Derek wakes up with a clouded head. His vision is a blur of shapes he can't decipher in the dim light that surrounds him. His eyes are burning in his skull. His mouth is dry and tastes awful, of dried blood and vomit.

Maybe a clock or wristwatch is ticking in the distance but it's difficult to say with the sound only coming through in waves. Derek tries to focus, but if anything it only makes it more difficult to sense what exactly is going on.

He closes his eyes. Opens them again. Derek sees a blob of red swim in front of his eyes, but it isn't his night vision. It's nauseating. 

Wait. _No_ it isn’t.

Something else is making him feel sick. Something bad.

 _Kadunk. Kadunk._ That’s a heartbeat. It's familiar but he can't place it, his mind is still too fuzzy.

Derek huffs out a groan, flexing the muscles in his body as he tries to get up.

The nausea overwhelms him now, a combination of whatever-it-is and pain raking through his body, and he swallows hard as he lets his head hang low.

When he looks up again, he can see a trail of dark dust right in front of him. Can _smell_ the powder and feel the physical restraint of it. It’s a vaguely familiar sensation.

There's a whiff of wolfsbane as well, as a faint presence in the air, but he doesn't think it's recent. He waits a minute, maybe two. _Kadunk._ The fumes are definitely fading, and as they do, Derek's mind clears up.

 _Kadunk. Kadunk._ He turns his head, fangs and claws already growing, and he growls before he even has a chance to see who it is.

Stiles.

Weak, small Stiles.

Stiles, who he never takes seriously, who forever runs off his mouth and who will probably-

Stiles.

No wonder he recognized the heartbeat. Still. It's too fast. _Kadunk._ Slightly off rhythm. Off key.

He's leaning on a baseball bat, Stiles is, and something is flowing from his free hand. Derek realizes that it _is_ something he knows--Mountain Ash, like Deaton and Stiles had used around the rave to prevent Peter from escaping. The border that kept him out with a force he hadn’t known before. 

The circle is closing around him and as he moves his body again, he can feel his bones shift, settle, all while his skin continues to sew itself back together.

There is no way he can move properly before Stiles finishes whatever the hell he is doing, so all Derek can do is turn fully into the big, bad Alpha wolf he usually hides and hope that Stiles will be intimidated.

Instead, his own heart skips a beat when Stiles looks up.

He looks angry. Furious. A flicker of amusement breaks through sometimes, for quarters of seconds at most. There is a fire burning in his eyes like Derek has never seen on Stiles before--has never seen on _any_ human before.

So Derek does the only thing he knows he can do right now. He opens his mouth and howls, threateningly as he can.

Stiles grins at him, half-smug and half-venomous, and for a moment Derek wonders if someone’s turned him. Almost at the same time he rejects that thought--Stiles doesn't smell like beast. He just _acts_ it.

The light flickers overhead. A car engine starts elsewhere. 

His body continues to heal, so he rolls his neck to ease the tension, hears it crack, while Stiles leans back a little and watches, the smirk still plastered on his face.

Derek can feel saliva flood his mouth, the urge to kill heightening as Stiles just sits there, still as a statue, _quiet_ as stone.

"Why?" he growls out, his night vision taking over.

Stiles shrugs. "You really don't know?" he asks. "Really, Derek?"

His voice sounds the same as always and it's confusing, it makes Derek turn his head away from whatever Stiles has become.

When he breathes out, some of the dust lifts off into the air before slowly settling back down in a different place. He allows his features to change back to human.

For the first time he feels like he stands a chance.

Confidence grows.

Stiles barks out a laugh, shrill and mean.

"What _is_ it," he repeats, slowly so he is sure Stiles can hear every single word.

Instead of saying anything, Stiles slides down a hand between his legs and that confuses Derek even more. Stiles keeps his eyes on him the entire time, mouth opening a little when he squeezes.

Then he moans. He sounds wanton, disheveled, and Derek can see the boy doing this to himself at night, every night.

Derek lets his head fall onto his hands, feeling the fuzzy hairs on the back of them brush his forehead as he tries not to fall over. His skin has closed, his bones seem to be very nearly healed. 

And who is he kidding. He knows exactly what Stiles is going on about.

Instead of responding to Stiles’ challenge, he closes his eyes and listens to Stiles' heartbeat instead. It's still too quick, as if he's just run a mile or three, it's still off beat and confusing to Derek.

Stiles squeezes at himself again, and asks, "Didn't you love to watch me the last time? Hm?" Derek only grunts in response. "Thinking that I didn't know you were right there outside my window. So, for the record? I fucking _knew_."

Derek pushes his nails into his thigh in an attempt to distract himself from the memories of that night, and for a moment Stiles looks disgusted—put-off by the blood like the person Derek _knows_. Huh.

Then Stiles speaks again. His voice has a rough edge to it, and a kind of confidence Derek isn't used to, not from Stiles. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A jerk for a jerk, Derek."

"I'm not going to do that in front of you," Derek grunts and he can feel sweat start to soak his shirt and dripping from his hair--more from trying not to leash out at Stiles than anything _else_. "What the fuck is wrong with you anyway?" he adds then, for good measure.

"Oh, nothing is _wrong_ with me," Stiles says, and he sounds smug, if a little out of breath. "Why would you think you're the one to judge if I'm fine or not anyway? It's not like you _know_ me. It's not like I'm the one that’s _bleeding._ ” From the corner of his eye, Derek can see Stiles is still stroking himself through his pants.

He sees how Stiles' foot is stretching in the direction of the line--so that he might touch it, sooner or later—and he knows how Stiles must be unaware of that because his head has been thrown back and his neck is exposed so his tendons show and-

Derek would love to bite him there. He can think of multiple reasons why.

He shakes his head, trying to get rid of that thought as he sits upright. He stretches himself, joints popping as the new muscles move with their ligaments and bones for the first time. He's fine. Physically, anyway.

"What would you do to me?" he asks Stiles then, deliberately calm and with rapidly retreating wolfish features. Maybe the way to make Stiles break the circle by getting him to forget about it.

Stiles gasps and he shuts his eyes. "I'd-" he halts, catches his breath, continues. "I'd capture you-" and then his eyes are back on Derek and shit, he knows exactly where this is heading "-And then I’d make you want me, so much that you can't control yourself, that you _have_ to-"

"Shut up," Derek says, already covering his ears because he can feel _it_ low in his stomach and even the nails digging into his neck aren't enough to stop his body from responding. “You’re insane. Shut the fuck up.”

The truth is, he _does_ want Stiles.

"Listen to me!" Stiles shouts then, standing up and almost stamping on the floor in his rage, and Derek pretends he can't see the bulge in Stiles' pants or the flush that's creeping up his neck. Stiles throws aside the baseball bat and pulls his hoody over his head, then throws it aside.

He's nearing the circle and Derek can smell the precome in Stiles' jeans. It makes his heart flutter and the change even more difficult to control.

"Did you know that," Stiles says then, almost face-to-face with Derek, his breath in Derek's face as he reaches out to him, "This isn't _actually_ fairy dust?” He’s shoving the black powder in front of Derek’s face. “It's just the pine tree ashes I scooped out of Allison's open hearth . "

"How," he growls at Stiles, his eyes turning red again as his heartbeat picks up, frightened and aroused and angry-as-hell.

That's the moment he feels the circle break, the moment he lunges forward to Stiles and knocks him over full-force so he ends up on top of him. Stiles whines.

Another groan escapes his mouth because of the _friction_ and Stiles looks at him, blinking a little bewildered before arching up into him.

Derek is still thrown off balance because of how Stiles has been acting and allows him to roll them over so he's on top of him. Then there’s a thigh shoved between his legs and Stiles starts to gyrate against him, slowly, as Derek digs his claws into the wooden floor.

"Why couldn't you just tell me?" Stiles says, voice clipped as he shoves himself into Derek, his own erection hard against Derek's thigh.

"I couldn't," is all Derek responds before he grabs a hold of the backs of Stiles' thighs. Stiles shudders, his jaw going slack as a moan tumbles from his lips.

He urges Stiles on from there on--not that he needs _that_ much convincing, but Derek likes to feel like he's the one in control. The friction, the smell, the heat, even his fading anger--everything combined is enough to make him go crazy, to want more and more even as he's getting it.

Derek slips a hand under Stiles' shirt, tracing the little imperfections, the scars and tiny wounds and slight rug burn from when he got shoved across the carpet during a fight last week. 

"I'm going to-" Stiles pants out and at that moment Derek's hand on Stiles' thigh becomes claw and it digs into Stiles' skin, making him shout louder than Derek has ever hear him do before.

He can smell it as Stiles comes into his underwear, is a little overwhelmed by it, and he thinks maybe he can _hear_ it as well, semen spurting against the fabric before being soaked up by it.

Stiles keeps moving on top of him, trembling, and it's like a sensory overload, stimuli coming in from everywhere around him until he is clutching Stiles, holding him close as he arches up into Stiles' body, coming _hard_.

It takes a while before he can think clear again. Stiles has moved off him and is sitting a couple of feet away from Derek, looking a little ashamed and more than a little flustered. There’s a stain in the front of his jeans and the smell of it alone is enough to make Derek feel heady again.

“What?” he asks, knowing that Stiles will understand that it means _Why did you act the way you did? What did you take?_ How _are you so different?_

“I got fed up with it. Stiles’ pupils are still blown, Derek notices, they are so large Stiles’ eyes seem _black_. “I had to do something.”

“You-“ Derek responds, ready to defend himself but he doesn’t. Stiles is right. Derek never would’ve taken it from him, he wouldn’t even have asked it of Stiles. “Yeah.”

Something briefly flickers in his eyes and if Derek hadn’t known better he’d have thought that Stiles’ eyes actually _were_ black for a moment. 

It’s nothing. A trick of the light.

Stiles is still staring at him and he doesn’t stop until Derek gives in and lets a small smile tug at the corner of his lip because fuck, yeah, the kid _is_ right and he knows it, too.

_Yeah._


End file.
